


Idol

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-02
Updated: 2007-03-02
Packaged: 2019-01-19 20:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12417891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "The next day, he'd secretly snatch her mama's wand while she cooked and make a lightning bolt scar shaped on his own forehead with it just like his hero's. He'dgrab Percy's eyeglasses and put them on, even though he would not see a thing, even though the glasses weren’t rounded but rather square, but he'd do it all the same" ...





	Idol

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

**Author's notes: I wrote this today after I saw Pride3's icon of Ron comparing himself to Harry and, god, I laughed so much watching it :D** **I didn't beta this, so I'm praying you guys can't find any grammar or spelling mistalkes *crosses fingers* Review and tell me what you think about it!** ****

He would bend his knees and beg his mama to have a scar like his. The famous lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He would hear the story a hundred thousand times, at night, before going to sleep, and he’d never get tired of it. 

****He would bend his knees and beg his mama to have a scar like his. The famous lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He would hear the story a hundred thousand times, at night, before going to sleep, and he’d never get tired of it.

He would wait excitedly for his mother to get to his bedroom and tell him the famous story about a defenceless baby boy who had defeated the cruelest wizard alive, leaving nothing but a weird scar on his forehead. His mama would tell him how brave the baby’s parents had been before they left to the place where they never returned, and what a miracle they’d brought the world with that baby. 

‘There won’t be anyone left in the world who doesn’t recognise his name,’ she’d say, combing his hair softly with her plump fingers and kissing him on the forehead. 

The next day, he’d secretly snatch her mama’s wand while she cooked and make a lightning bolt scar shaped with it on his own forehead just like his hero’s. He’d grab Percy’s eyeglasses and put them on, even though he would not be able to see a thing, even though the glasses weren’t rounded but rather square, but he’d do it all the same. He would be Harry Potter, the famous wizard with countless powers. He would imagine himself fighting, and winning, and money all around sprawled all around him; people cheering, cheering for _him_ , and that’s how he would spend most of his childhood days.

Someday, he would turn ten and leave all those fantasies about dressing up in the past, but the impossible desire of being that boy would still remain in his heart. He’d never say anything about it, never tell anyone about these thoughts he’s had ever since he was born. The sensation of being someone completely different to what he’d been all of his life: rich, famous, recognised.

But then… then he’d turn eleven and be old enough to assist his first year at Hogwarts. He’d pack anxiously all of his old clothes, wishing he were rich just like his hero so he would be able to buy first handed books, quills and cauldrons, instead of getting everything his brothers had used during they’re previous years. He would arrive at King’s Cross, gasp and look around at the sight of so many people, both Muggles and wizards; he would try to absorb everything. That would be his very first train ride to the school.

A short boy with rounded shaped glasses, really messy hair and old, worn out clothes would ask mama about the barrier, and she’d answer him, politely including the boy to go through the barrier with him. He’d shrug, as a sign to tell the boy that he didn’t care, that he could go with him if he wanted to, and the boy would smile at him as a sign of appreciation.

Some minutes later, he’d find out that the short boy was _him, Harry Potter_. Short, lanky, skinny, pale, insecure Harry Potter, and he’d stand still, trying to believe this was him. He’d sat in the same compartment than Harry Potter, and become friends with him, and even be chosen over Draco Malfoy.

Years would go by, and he would still be standing on Harry Potter’s right, fighting against anything, everything. 

But he’d then realise that, in the end, he didn’t want a scar on his forehead or a pair of glasses over the bridge of his nose, or dark messy hair and even less, he sure as hell didn't want the Final Battle against that mean wizard he used to hear about so much when he was young.

At that moment, when his best friend would glance at him, what he would realise was how much Harry Potter wanted to be like him.

 

 


End file.
